Splinter Cell: Red Mercury
by shadowmarksman
Summary: Story continues on from my previous story Splinter Cell Chaos Theory, My version not the game storyline. After Sam Fisher is presumed dead in Chaos Theory, he is lead on a hunt or be hunted rogue mission, to stop a dark conspiracy, an attack on US soil.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

Domitri Cheskavour sat and sipped at his vintage whiskey, whilst his female servants massaged his feet. He flicked through the channels on his plasma TV, hardly satisfied with what he was viewing, cursing at the numerous channels that he viewed as unworthy.

Two knocks came from the door, as a large man peered through. Domitri looked his way and exclaimed "Ah, Petric! I was starting to get bored! Come in, come in." He raised his hand and said "Enough," signalling the massagers to stop, he pulled himself out of his brown leather recliner and chucked the TV remote onto the seat.

"Domitri, he is getting impatient. He wants to see you now," the man said crossing his arms.

"Yes, yes, yes, in a minute, soon, later." He said sculling the last mouth full of whiskey before coughing in his bad health. He walked back to his lounge.

"Sir, you have to see him."

"What is this, you're calling the shots now? I'm sick and tired. Tell him to come back later." He said sitting back in the lounge before another man walked in with a briefcase in hand. Domitri looked at the man and sighed, "Okay, okay. What is it you have to offer me Mr...?"

"We already arranged this, you supply the heads, we provide the goods." Domitri, sat up and looked at him, "What are you offering?"

The man placed his briefcase on a table and removed a file, then placed it on Domitri's lap. He paused for a second as he examined the file. Then put it aside and got up. He turned to his girls and signalled to leave, then walked to a chest and removed a cigar. "In some Russian cultures, to smoke a cigar is infidelity if in the mouth of one undeserving, but to smoke one in other countries is classified as a privilege. Cigar?" Domitri said reaching his hand out to the American.

The man looked cautious, before reaching out and taking the cigar. Domitri placed one in his mouth also then searched his body for a lighter. "Lighter, lighter." He whispered through his teeth. He went to the cabinet and reached in, pulled out and item then turned around to the American with a Luger in hand. The American pulled the cigar from his mouth and looked at Domitri's bodyguard, who then, providing a hint, nudged himself in front of the door.

"But, I am Russian." He cocked the Lugar, then expectedly the American jumped for the door; not gaining any distance the Lugar coughed in Domitri's hand. The American's body slumped into the door, and rolled onto the floor.

Domitri placed the Lugar back in the cabinet and poured another whiskey, "Inform them that we don't need more weapons or explosives, we can supply our own, if they want heads, I want something worthy in return." He said sitting once again back in his chair.

"Yes sir."

"And get him out of here, and send the girls back in on your way out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

12.08.08

08:32 hundred hours

Bankstown, Virginia

Their reunions were religious, literally and, in other the other sense, played out in the exact way as tradition, no 'I' was left undotted and no 't' unslashed. Each year on August the twelfth, the Grimsdottir and Campbell family would reunite, sitting down at exactly half past eight to share in a meal for those that had not; Jennifer's father was born in Israel, before migrating with his family to Russia, there he lived a few years before the holocaust broke out in 1936, his family were captured and killed. Going into hiding during the duration of the war he changed his surname to Grimsdottir, that name thus stuck. He moved to America before marrying Michelle Campbell. And after witnessing the holocaust firsthand, he made an oath that each year he would dedicate a meal to his lost family.

This of course was new to the Campbell family, but it didn't require much time to adjust, in fact they found it an honour, thus partaking in the reunion.

This then, made the government hesitant when Grim put her hand up for her job in the agency.

The meals consisted of honey roasted pork on a spit, and all the vegetables imaginable, baked to perfection; the potato wedges were Jenifer's favourite, always baked until golden brown round the edges, crisp on the outside and soft in the middle. The mere thought made Grim dribble at the mouth as she sat in her chair.

They said a prayer, then, her father stood, raised his wine glass and made a pledge to those lost in the holocaust, before everyone began serving and tucking in to the large meal provided. Grim had only finished half of her first serving before she felt as though she was full, her father couldn't quite grasp that her mother's side of the family weren't as good eaters as his. She forked at her food and sipped her wine, hoping not to cause a stir, as it would be classed as rude not to finish the meal. The conversation was loud and constant between the twenty or so relatives that sat around the table; wanting a way out of the scene, luck struck as her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She checked the number; it was unknown, then slipped outside figuring one excuse is better than none and answered. "Hello?"

A familiar voice answered, but she was unable to recognise it _"The Monty Lounge Cafe, ten minutes. Meet me there." _The signal cut, she looked at her phone and closed it before leaning on the railing. A moment passed before she opened the door and reached for her jacket.

The night was fresh and nippy, Grim pulled her collar up and tightened her jacket around her as she walked along the footpath. The Monty Lounge was up ahead, on the corner of an intersection. It was small, but nice. She stood by the window and looked in to the late night Cafe. One waitress stood in the kitchen putting back the mugs, and a man, dressed dark, back towards Grim sat up the back sipping at his coffee flicking through a newspaper. She opened the door sounding the bell and walked slowly towards the man. The waitress looked at Grim and smiled "Hi love, can I get you anything?" Grim smiled and asked for a Short black.

The man stood up and looked at Grim, her face lightened as she recognized his dark appearance. "Sam!" she chucked out her arms and embraced him, "Grim, good to see you." She pulled out a chair and sat down; he returned his mug and sat down also.

"Likewise." She said excited. "I thought... we thought you were..."

"Not yet. Why did you come? I thought that maybe you'd decline an anonymous phone call." He said in a chuckle.

She shrugged her shoulders and answered "I had a hunch,"

"Was that the same hunch that made you open that message in your office?"

"Yeah, when you said this place, it gave my hunch a good reason. You knew I liked this cafe. You knew our family reunion was on tonight and that I'd accept any reason to get out of it."

"See, our little talks didn't go to waste, I listened." He said putting the paper aside.

"Yeah," she said with a smile, "You listened." She paused a second stirring her coffee, "You won't be allowed back into the agency, your file has been wiped."

"I know, that's why I'm here. I need to talk to Lambert. I need to talk to you."

"About Lambert, and you saying how we are in danger?"

"Yeah,"

"You really had me worried. What's this about?"

"Last month, when I was sent to Lanzhou to retrieve the substance, myself and the ISFU that were sent along to support me were compromised, I was knocked unconscious, and a self destruct on the bunker went off destroying the substance."

"The Red Mercury?"

"Yes, while I was unconscious they must have taken me out through a different entrance then had me taken to a building on the outskirts of the town, there I managed to escape and witnessed a deal being done between Long Dan and an American,"

"Who?"

"That's what I've got to find out. The American mentioned that Lambert needed to be dealt with. And Long Dan asked whether the package had been delivered, something I am also to search into. I interrupted the deal and the American got away. He knew me. He knew what I did."

"Long Dan was presumed dead in the explosion, guess he's still walking around in China."

"No, I went after him. He no longer poses a threat. That American knew far too much about Third Echelon. We are trained to memorize everyone that knows about the agency, and I didn't know him."

"A leak?" Sam nodded in reply.

"I've got to keep my head down, at least until this is dealt with."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I have a lead, a military accountant that had just transferred fifteen million to an offshore account. He was being watched, until the NSA stopped, no more follow ups on the situation."

"How do you know this?" she asked.

"I wasn't in that office at Maryland just to talk to you."

"Oh..." she said stirring her coffee. "Sam, why didn't you try to return sooner, or at least communicate?" he looked at her then unbuttoned his collar and raised his head to reveal a scare, five centimetres long, bellow his Adam's apple on the soft tissue where the voice box would sit; rubbed it then buttoned his collar up again. "They removed my sub-dermal while I was unconscious, voice transmitter and receiver." He said rubbing another scare behind his left ear. "Can't say they were experts at the removal either. Still hurts like hell."

"I'm sorry, must be hard." She said awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"I'm fine, I've endured worse. I am alive." He said leaning back in his chair. "Grim, now that I've met you here, you are probably in more danger then before. I think we are safe, that's why I met you here but I can't be certain. I need you to understand, and I need to believe you do; I can't fight this with just the clothes on my back, not by myself. Now if I'm right, Lambert will be in, but, I say this with complete honesty, I'm asking for your help, but it doesn't mean you have to;"

"Yes."

"Listen, a part of me wants you not to, to keep you out of this, but I can't choose for you. If you help a little you are in this just as deep as I am, you won't be able to just bathe your legs. You'll be all in." He said leaning across the table. She looked at him softly and replied, "Since when would I refuse, I'm all in." He stood and smiled. "I've got to go. Thanks." He said hugging her. "Stay safe, right now you guys are the only family I've got. I'll keep in contact. And don't trust anyone." He held her shoulder and dropped a fifty dollar note on the register then walked out the door.

She knew where this would lead, but she wanted this, she wanted the excitement, she wanted to help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

16.08.08

01:15 hundred hours

New York City,

New York

His mannerisms were odd, he walked as though he was trying to lose someone following him. His actions jerky and unnatural, that is because he was acting too natural. Fake. I knew I hadn't tipped him off, but something did. He walked up and turned right onto 21st Centennial Drive, keeping his bag over his shoulder. I walked along behind, keeping my distance of roughly thirty meters. He walked by the numerous shops that occupied the street, weaving in between the busy business men on their way to catch what food they could in their frantic half hour lunch. Stopping by a newspaper stand, he carefully glanced behind him, trying to spot the one following him. I still wasn't convinced it was me. I kept on walking knowing that the moment I stopped he would twig. I walked on closer to him, yet not once did his eye contact come on me. After buying the paper he turned and continued around yet another corner out of sight. I walked around the corner to him stopped, leaning on the light post pretending to look at his paper while scanning ahead. He looked more worried then usual. I walked past him and casually looked back to him looking around the corner he came from, only to quickly pace back towards me; I opened the door to a takeaway store and used my hand to keep it open. He took the opportunity and dashed in thanking quickly before walking to the counter flustered. He took a seat on the stool by the brekkie bar and looked over his shoulder to the window onto the street. I looked out the door and spotted nothing; walked back in and casually sat beside the man. Without I contact I said "You in trouble?" he jumped startled and looked at me before answering "No, no," he stuttered "just can't trust anyone these days ya' know. This world's crazy." He chucked his paper on the bench and ran his hands through his hair.

"You got that right." I said before ordering a Pepsi Max and a turkey and pineapple sandwich. I looked over and out the window, then popped the lid off the drink "You sure you're not in any trouble?"

"Sure man." He said grabbing his coffee off the attendant. I put down my drink and extended my hand "John Marcus."

He looked at my hand and hesitated before grasping it "Pat Turner."

"You work around here?" I asked. No sooner asking I looked at a reflection in front of me at a black sedan parked across the street, inside two men. "Yeah, accountant, you?" a second passed before I answered, preoccupied with the car "Ah... yeah, banker, corner of Western 19th." I continued looking out the window to see a man in a suit walk to the door. I readied my position and looked over my shoulder; he walked in the shop, looking at Turner. He walked slowly in behind Turner, before glancing at me. He attitude changed to offensive and moved his sleeve to his mouth and whispered "Agent Fisher is with Turner!" He reached for the inside of his jacket, but I didn't give him a chance, flinging a plate at his face; he dropped the gun to stop the plate before I jumped up kicking him to the ground. Turner was startled as I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through the kitchen. The chef blocked our path momentarily before a tile in the wall shattered in front of us followed by the shattering of glass. I kicked Turner through the back door and looked out onto the street to the two men in the car running for the shop. I walked to Turner and picked him up off his feet in the alley. "Come with me!" I yelled.

We ran right down the alley before turning left to the street. I yelled at people to get out of the way signalling with my hand. I yelled for him to keep up but his small figure couldn't. Screeching of wheels sounded as an SUV slid around the corner behind us. We ran left again into another street, dodging pedestrians as we went. The SUV grew closer and our pursuers did also. I pointed out another alley up ahead before we both turned into it. I stopped and slammed against the wall, Turner stopped briefly "Domitri Cheskavour, Red Dragons, they're a..." he stopped in sentence as the footsteps pounded around the corner, Turner turned and ran off down the alley before two men ran in front of me. Coat hanging the first man, he flipped to the ground before I lashed out at the other, he raised his pistol at me and fired hitting the alley wall. I sidestepped, grabbing his arm in my left and his throat in my right swinging him round into a dumpster. The SUV screeched to a halt at the entrance of the alley; I snatched the guy's gun and fired three rounds into the door holding them back. Turner was almost at the end of the alley before another black sedan entered his exit snatching Turner. I bolted down the alley towards the sedan as it reversed and sped off.

I turned onto the street to see the sedan as they were still to struggling to close the door. My tie flapped over my shoulder as I ran on the centre line. I was too late.

I stood there looking down the street as sirens sounded in the background. I pocketed the gun, turned, and ran as four police officers ran along the sidewalk. I needed to get this to Lambert.

***

17.08.08

07:23 hundred hours

Lambert was tired, he normally was after a stressful day in the office, and although his job was not physically tiring, it sure was mentally. Most of his colleagues preferred their job, and in most cases a promotion was what everyone tried to avoid; though he copes, usually unwinding by smoking a cigar when he got home, and of a Friday, depending on work, shared a drink with Sam and Brunton. But now, that two of his only friends had passed away, he spends Fridays alone. But he never let it get to him. Lambert was always known to never look back but move on. Though for Sam he had his exceptions.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to his Merc using the central locking. The car blinked twice before he opened the rear door and chucked his briefcase in. Opening the front door he sat down and put the key's in the ignition then paused. "I thought you left your skills for work only?" Lambert said glancing to his left at a man sitting in the passenger seat; he was tall, well, taller than Lambert's 5'7, clean cut black hair, military style, topped off with a tinge of grey to mark his years.

"I make exceptions. Wasn't it you that told me Mercedes cars would even keep me out?" he said.

"You are one crazy son of a gun Sam." Lambert said shaking Sam's hand. "Grim told me I might bump into you."

"Did she..."

"Yes, she explained everything, well all she new. I'll need better details to file a report. Better proof."

"No." Sam said checking the windows. "We both know you can't do that. It won't work. That's not how it's played."

"Probably, but you don't know unless you try."

"No Lambert. The dice has been rolled."

"Then why are you here?"

"I checked out a lead. Patrick Turner. He is a military accountant, just transferred fifteen mill' to an offshore account."

"I'll have William check him out."

"I went after him, turns out he didn't like the way the game was being played. Cost him his head for having a conscience."

"His dead?"

"I don't know, but I don't see why they would have any reason to keep him alive. He was useless and a liability. But he gave me a name." Lambert closed his door. "Domitri Cheskavour."

"Never heard of him, sounds Russian."

"That's what I thought, he also said the 'Red Dragons'."

"Got nothing. I'll get William on the names, get some links."

"This isn't official. This stays between us. Make sure Redding knows it."

"Sure." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "This contains everything you need to know. It has the number I'm contactable on and how to arrange a meet." Lambert took the envelope and said "What now?"

"I track down the people who took Turner. Find out who they are and what they're planning." Sam opened his door and stepped out.

"Sam," Lambert said leaning across the seat "Stay safe. We'll catch up on a drink when this is over. Good to know you're alive." He shook his hand vibrantly.

"For now." The drink sounded good to them both, but they knew it was far from over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

He was stubborn, that was all there was about it. Petric hated that about Domitri, but he was use to it. And he knew that it wouldn't change. He grew to work with it, though it still bugged him. Petric has been with Domitri from the beginning, Domitri chose Petric and stuck with his decision. He suited the job, he was a butch and intimidating guy that came with a brain, for most guards that specialty was sold separately, and Domitri was satisfied. They grew to understand each other, though neither would ever agree that they were friends, they kept it professional, Petric got paid, then he did his job – properly. He knew the line of insubordination, but pushed it further; Petric was thus considered insane from his colleagues due to the fact that Domitri could have anyone killed in a heartbeat. But Petric knew Domitri deeper than the average person.

Domitri coughed and spluttered before downing the last of his shot. This was what made Petric annoyed, for two months he insisted he get checked out, but it came with complete refusal.

Domitri placed the shot glass on the table and looked at Petric. "Okay, send him in." With that Petric went to the door and opened it to allow three men dressed in suits walk in. Domitri looked at the men, two he presumed were guards for precautions due to the last meeting. The third stood in the middle with a briefcase in hand, in which the handle was cuffed to his wrist.

"Guards?" Petric asked gesturing towards them.

"Precaution. My government didn't like the stunt you pulled off."

"Your government? Your government should provide better means of negotiating Mr...?"

"We followed the deal, it was you that broke it."

"I did not accept to hunt down men for you in return for a small cache of weapons, weapons that we already have access to. Now if you don't have anything of worth to offer, I'm sure Petric would be glad to show you out." He said gesturing at the door.

The American walked forward and placed the briefcase on the table and opened it up to reveal a laptop. He switched the PC on and clicked through various windows before a password screen appeared.

Domitri hesitated, then said "Mercury?"

The American nodded at Domitri and replied "The first step for its creation. The first ingredient shall we say. Now your deal."

"What? You aren't providing it all?"

"Not at once. For every man you bring in, another part of the formula you'll get." "This wasn't the deal!"

"Neither was the body bag. Our way or no way." Domitri hesitated then looked at Petric and nodded. Petric left the room and returned a minute later with a man, bound at the hands and feet. The man appeared battered and bruised, but stood his ground. His head was covered in a linen bag, but he sounded not even a grunt. The American looked at the prisoner and asked for the covering to be removed. The bag slipped off revealing a beaten man, bruised throughout the face. "This man of yours put up quite the fight, killed two of my men and broke the arm of another. All with his bare hands." Domitri said taking a seat back at the mahogany table. The American signalled a guard who then walked forward and grabbed the prisoners head pointing it upright before feeling below his Adams apple. He looked at the American and nodded. "Good." He said un-cuffing himself from the briefcase.

"Who exactly is he?" Domitri asked. The American walked over and wiped the sweat dribbling down the man's forehead and rubbed it with his fingers. He bent down to eye level with the man and starred at him. The room was quiet.

He stood back up and walked away before subtly reaching into his jacket. Swift and precise he swung round; the pistol recoiled in his hand emptying at round into the man's chest. Petric, startled removed his pistol in defence.

"A ghost is who he was."

"Do you care to tell me why you just shot that man after you requested we take him alive?" Domitri asked standing Petric down.

"We are looking for one in particular." The American said before walking over and typing in a password on the laptop. "Everything you need is there. You want more, bring me another body. I don't care how you do it; just make sure they're breathing." He told his guards to grab the body then walked out of the room placing the pistol back in his jacket "Take care." He said closing the door behind him. Domitri coughed again then sipped his whiskey. "Mother Russia always will."


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

National Security Agency

Forte Meade, Maryland

19.08.09

21:46 hundred hours

Grim was curious as she watched Lambert in his office, she hadn't seen him like this in a while, but she had a thought on what it was that was bothering him. He paced across the same line in the floor back and forth, some day she knew it would need re-carpeting, it made her smile.

He walked around watching his feet as though in deep concentration, his stubby black figure amused her, Sam always mocked Lambert's figure though she never noticed until now. He looked out his office window into the large room where Grim and Redding along with four others were working behind their desks. That was another thing that amused Grim; this was probably the average amount of employees in the room at one time. You'd think that one of the most advanced and top secret agencies being run would have more personal, but that was the point, 'Top Secret' wouldn't remain its position if Third Echelon had crowd of workers to keep tap on every day. Of course there are other offices and positions within the agency, but they're all based on the same rule, Secrecy. Though only a handful of the couple of dozen people on the program actually know what is going on within; most have an assigned job, fill out the non-discloser agreement and get on with it, no questions asked. Some are even given false reasons.

First Echelon was the first agency created, it had the same goal: to achieve whatever information necessary for National Security. Its programs were run entirely around computer and internet based infiltration, hundreds of the world greatest computer geniuses were assigned to First Echelon, though one thing set Echelon back: the ever growing computer industry, meaning greater mainframes and technology goes into them; this thus means Echelon had to keep one step in front of everyone else. And this cost money. A lot of it. And how long can you blame production of weapons and recruitment of soldiers on the billions of dollars being sucked out of the bank because of the NSA? Not very long. The program was thus terminated after only three years of operation. But, some high bureaucrat put pen to paper, spent some of his notes and decided to put Second Echelon on the map. This again only lasted two years. Then a few more years went by before officials realized that even in the short duration of operation, cases and crooks that were being hunted for years on end, were caught during First and Third Echelons life.

So, Third Echelon was created. This time with no one involved. The less people that knew, the less people that would be breathing down their necks about finance, and the more chance of better operations. But a new tactic was used. Computer based operations were scrubbed, and solid espionage was reborn. It worked well in the Cold War, why not use it again? This idea was from one of the most valued members of Third Echelon, Colonel Irving Lambert; he put forth his idea and trained the first agent: Samuel Fisher. Lambert and Fisher went way back. At one time they'd served in the same company of the US Navy seals. This is why he chose Fisher. He was the best, and always has been. Third Echelon was created in 2003, and they pulled Fisher right out of the Navy Seals and stamped him as the first Splinter Cell.

Splinter Cells were trained to work alone, live life as a ghost, on the field and off. They were to minimize interaction with the outside world in their own security, and that of America's. They are to be inserted by whatever means necessary into military classified hot spots and hostile areas or countries. Once inserted, they are to retrieve or complete whatever objective, in and out, without leaving a trace, mostly at night.

And thus one of the most useful programs was born, along with the most stressful positions available.

"Will?" she whispered across the room. William Redding looked up to Grim who then gestured her head towards the office. He looked over and nodded. "I noticed, what do you thinks up?" he asked.

"Not certain, but I have an idea." A muffled ringing came from the office as Lambert snatched up the phone. He talked for a few seconds before cursing and slamming the phone back down. Grim and Redding looked eager to know what it was. Lambert ran his hands through his hair then walked to the door and opened it "Jen, Will, in my office." He said softly as though attempting to calm himself. Jennifer and William glanced at each other then slid out from their desks with their eyebrows raised.

"Sir?" they asked walking into the office. He held out his hand to gesture a seat.

"Take a seat?" they did so. "This isn't on record, I'll have you know. And for now it'll have to stay that way. Understand?" he asked. They nodded quickly. He walked behind his desk and pulled out a cigar, lit it then inhaled peacefully "Two days ago agent Moore went missing, a few _hours _ago a German vessel fished a body out of the water. He was reported to have had a section of his throat and behind his ear cut."

"His sub-dermal?" Redding asked. The sub-dermal is a small receiver and transceiver implanted on the Adams apple and behind the ear. It gives the wearer completely silent communication. This is achieved by the vibrations picked up whilst talking, though it can be produced by the manipulation of your voice box, a form of humming. The receiver behind the ear is also silent; it receives the message and translates it within his ear for an echoed voice. It takes some training, for Sam it was like learning the alphabet again.

"Yes."

"But how did they know it was there? It can't be detected."

"I know. This is why this can't be on record. Until we know for sure, we have to treat this as though we have been compromised. Redding, I'll need you to find the exact place he went missing. Grim, find out what he was doing." He knew she was thinking it, because it explained everything.

"What about Sam sir?"

"I know, that's what I suspected."

"Whoa! Hold up... what about Sam?" Redding asked curiously. Lambert closed the blinds on the office windows.

"Sam is alive. He has approached Jennifer and myself and has said that he believes we are also compromised. He has proof. Not hard copy, but I'll take his word."

"Woe. You didn't think you should tell me?" he said looking at Grim.

"He asked not to. Very soon he'll approach you." Lambert said backing up Grim.

"Me, what for?" he asked.

"Answers. I'll tell you in a second. Sam told us that when he was in China, he was in fact compromised, but he was able to escape and thwart a deal between an American and Long Dan. He then went after a lead, but the lead was compromised only giving Sam two more links. When the lead was taken they recognised Sam and attempted to kill him; now we are not sure but we think it goes back to the American in China. But for now, we need to keep it quiet." He walked over to the window and peered out through the blinds to the office. "I need you both to know the reason why this is off the record, we are not meant to have anything to do with Fisher, and he does not exist. Don't try and make contact, don't call him he'll call you. Now if Moore's death is linked to Sam, then he is walking on thin ice." Lambert replied.

"Sure thing."

"When you come across him, tell him all you know, I'll give you a report to back you up. Okay. I think that's all." They both stood and walked towards the door, "Answers? Sir." Redding asked. Lambert grabbed a file from his desk and handed it to him.

"These are the links Sam gathered from the lead. Find out all you can on these. A request from Sam. When you do, and Sam comes to you, tell him what you know."

"Yes sir." Redding replied nodding his head. Lambert stood there looking out the door as Grim and Redding went to their desk. He was worried for them, and where this would lead.

***

21.08.08

03:57 hundred hours

What was the Red Dragons? Who was Domitri Cheskavour? Who were those men who snatched Turner? It bugged me. Cheskavour sounded Russian, but where does Russia come into this? I'd spent hours in the local library tracking the name, but my case died. He either was a man who lived off the radar, used the name as a cover, or is not even a person.

But that was why I was here, sitting in the silver Chrysler, peering at the townhouse down the street. The neighbourhood was pleasant, and resembled the middle class citizen area, every second house presenting the red and blue flag in the name of their free country, a country that hid no secrets. Well that just cracked me up.

It wasn't the area where I pictured Redding to live, not that he couldn't afford to live here, his wages were better than respectable. It's more the fact that I knew him as a nerd, expecting him to being living in a suburban flat in the heart of the city.

I didn't like him, but I tried to. I had nothing really against him, just more the fact I wasn't ready for someone to take James Brunton's job. He was my former coordinator. He was killed on a field mission, by the now deceased Long Dan. It struck me hard, he was my friend, but I learnt to move on.

His working days varied. Neither he nor Lambert knew what time exactly his day would end. Depending on the situation at hand, he could be confined to his desk for days on end, forcing him to take power naps in breaks in order that he kept up to speed on work. Or if things are quiet, he had an early mark. Though these came as a treat. If treated as an average worker, his hours would be from 7:00 till 4:00.

I sipped away at my coffee, examining the life that walked or drove by, amused by the children on the way home from school, or the middle-aged retirees entertained in their gardens. The day was peaceful and sunny, a warm 27 degrees centigrade.

It caught me for a second, life that is. I never really took time to... enjoy it. The only time I did would be when I'm not in the field, most of my time then would be as a handyman around my house in DC. That was what I looked forward to.

I bought it twelve years ago, a wreck, a two story wreck signed up to be bulldozed before it caught my eye. I'd always imagined of 'doing up' and old abandoned house while on long trips in the Osprey to who knows where, and one day that thought became a real possibility. I did it all myself.

Redding's car turned the corner a hundred meters down the road, before pulling into his driveway. William hopped out of his car, checked the mail, waved at the lady next door, unlocked his house then stepped inside. I waited in the car, examining the street for anything suspicious, then once satisfied got out and walked across the street to Redding's townhouse.

_Knock! Knock! _The footsteps thudded through the door before the peephole went dark. Then clichéd, the three door lock sounded, the dead bolt, handle lock and chain release were opened before the door swung open. "Expecting someone?" I asked pulling the small strand of tape from the top of the door.

"Hi, ah, yeah, that wasn't for you though,"

"Oh?" I asked sarcastically.

He slurred his speech nervously, while speaking at a pace "Yeah... I mean no. But I knew you were coming just I wasn't expecting you, kind of." I blinked and raised my eyebrows, to show humour and confusion. "Really?"

"Yeah." I looked over his shoulder and into his house curiously. "Oh, sorry, please come in." He said showing me in.

His house was descent, not the nerdy design I expected; he showed me in through hallway which led past a stairwell, living room door, and kitchen door, before taking me into another door which joined up as one large living area with the kitchen.

"You sound good. Really... good."

"I've only said four words. Nine. Ten..."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous." I bit my tongue; I knew I was beating him up, I attempted to play nice. "No, I'm sorry, I'm a little whacked with all that's going. I think my age is starting to catch up with me. Just don't tell Grim she'll have a field day." We both laughed, though his was more real then mine.

"Drink? Coffee, tea?" he asked walking into the kitchen.

"No thanks," he moved frantically around the kitchen before opening the fridge,

"Beer?"

"Tempting but I won't." He took a deep breath and leant on the granite island centred in the kitchen. "Will, take it easy, you're flustered. I'm not Lambert."

He through a smile calming himself "I know. Everything... feels different, I'm edgier, I feel as though someone's watching my every move. I can't seem to trust anyone, not even myself." He got up off the bench and opened his briefcase, before handing me a folio. "Your answers are in here."

I took the folio and glanced over the files inside. "Thanks,"

"I couldn't dig much up but I was able to get this" he pulled one of the files from my hand, and handed me the photo that was paper clipped to the corner "Domitri Cheskavour," his photo was not that flattering, it was taken without his knowledge, from a distance. His features were dominant, a large figure, broad that is, and reasonably short. His head was masked in dense grey hair pulled into a ponytail at the back. His face was choked in thick white stubble, and mimicked the shape of the Grand Canyon. His eyes were brown and carried shadows underneath.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Well, Domitri Cheskavour isn't his real name, it's Verski Frizchou; though he hasn't gone by that name in twenty years. His Russian, born and bred. Sixty seven years of age. Served seven years in service during the Cold War, before being promoted to General during the early eighties. He commanded a regiment of Spetnaz troops assigned to the field in hostile Georgia, he was seriously wounded, which caused him to retire. In the mid-eighties he joined a small cult known as the Crest. Which he spent three years gaining trust within the ranks, pulling smuggling jobs over Russia, whether they be people or weapons. This in turn gained him respect, then when he had enough power he over through the Crest leader, gaining him once again more respect. Once his rule was evident he changed the cult to the name Red Dragons."

"Like one big jigsaw." He pulled out another file, and flipped through the pages.

"For a few years the cult sat at the bottom with the dozens of other cults and religions at the time. Before he made his work a little more well known, assassinations, robberies, terrorist attacks. And some of the biggest drug smuggling operations in the world. His work no longer consisted throughout Russia, but spread to Europe, then eventually Asia, Oceania, and America. Now, the Red Dragons are one of the biggest groups. When I was told to look them up, I'd heard of them, and the reason why Lambert and yourself hadn't, well you have. They don't go by name, they are only referred to as the Red Dragons within Russia, everywhere else they are anonymous, you have in fact been on mission, thwarting some smuggling operations into America."

"They're big I take." I took the file back off Will and scanned through the photos and files.

"And if it is true that the American you saw is brokering a deal with the Red Dragons..."

"Then this is bigger than we thought."

"And, it means they'll probably stop at nothing to shut your mouth..." William finished his sentence short before cursing, "Oh no... I just remembered, Agent Moore is dead."

"Dead?"

"Yeah, he was fished out of the water on the coast of Germany and Russia."

"That was my next assignment before China, I couldn't make it so they sent Moore instead."

"I know."

I took the files and slipped them into my jacket, before shaking William's hand "Thanks a lot, for everything. Things are gonna get worse before they get better. You've made enemies by talking to me, make..." I paused in my sentence glancing over Redding's shoulder at the kitchen blender behind. A dark figure moved, followed by another then another. A moment later a shadow passed over the wall. Redding noticed my vision then saw the shadow also. Then a slight creak sounded through the ceiling. They were in the house.

I acted immediately, running for the kitchen, before snatching the tea towels on the stove. I ran at the door towards the hallway grabbing Redding by the arm. I wrapped the tea towel around my face, covering my mouth and nose "Do the same!" we stepped out into the hallway before a noise came from the front door; without hesitation I tackled Redding onto the living room floor before a deafening explosion filled the hallway with smoke and shards of door. I kept Redding's head down as another smash came from the room, this time a hissing canister bounced a few meters away. I squeezed my eyes shut before the concussing pound of the flash bang went off; the brilliant flash still pierced our eyelids, sending our sight blotched in blue and red. Our ears hissed in a piercing whine, it was known that the flash bangs can rupture a man's ear drum, though this time we were lucky.

The poisonous gasses flooded the room, but the tea towels bought us a few more seconds. Aching, I grabbed Redding by the collar and got on our feet. The hissing weakened, and then muffled footsteps entered the hallway.

The window broke again as two men charged through; both of them were dressed in black strapped vests, and wore a black helmet fitted with a gas respirator. They _looked_ like SWAT units, fitted with an MP-5 and twelve-gauge pump action shotgun.

I leapt behind a couch taking Redding with me. The couch shuddered as the bullets passed through the back rest above our heads. I reached behind my back and slipped out a Six-Shot bullet fed Bullpup pistol. And reached around the lounge _Bang! Bang! _The Bullpup pounded back as one of the men took a stray bullet to the vest, forcing him to the wall. The men in the hallway had reached the door and were ready to storm the room. I aimed around at the wall beside the door and fired three rounds into it. The plaster burst from impact, littering the floor. I stood up quickly firing another round at the other man in the room forcing him to dive for cover. I was out, and no time to reload. I pushed Redding towards the door and yelled to run. A few inches in front of Redding I bolted at the door. The men were lined along the hallway, and along the stairs.

I dived into the weakened wall from my previous fire, missing the controlled fire of the previous man. The wall shredded away with ease, as I forced through tackling an unsuspecting man into the kitchen. This seemed to startle those in the hallway giving Redding enough time to make it through the kitchen and to the inside access door to the garage.

I spun around to my back with the man now on top, gripping him in a head lock. I slipped his MP-5 into my hand and burst a few rounds into the hallway door before getting up and walking backwards towards the garage. The men charged through into the kitchen, holding their fire to avoid hitting the hostage, the aim smooth and precise, they were experienced. I held the MP-5 out towards them, but didn't fire, treading slowly into the garage. As I just entered I pushed the hostage forward and closed the door before getting Redding to help push a cupboard against the door to prevent access.

"Second car?" I said jumping the bonnet to the driver's side of his Lincoln Renegade.

"Good salary." We both jumped in and closed the door as the cupboard began to rattle. Bending down under the wheel I pulled off the cover to the ignition, which then revealed five wires; Redding being the technical expert then pointed out the appropriate wire and the order to connect them. The engine started with a purr, before slamming the stick into reverse and flattening the throttle.

I pushed Redding's head down to his knees, snapped the rear view mirror from the roof and hid my head as well. The garage door bent out before succumbing to the trunk; the Renegade leapt out of the garage triumphantly before being drenched in bullets. Each window shattered, and every panel punctured. The view was difficult as I held the mirror just above my head.

Tossing the wheel left, the Lincoln curved right, swiping William's other car, causing two men to jump for cover. The Lincoln exited onto the street cutting the gutter upon exit as the bullets continued to line the bonnet; I told Redding to keep his head down but try to put his belt on. Tossing the wheel left again, the large sedan ran up a gutter throwing a garbage bin aside. I put it into drive and throttled it again returning to the street with a screech from the tires. The fire eased as we escaped further up the street.

Redding was startled, but not shaken, he'd endured this before in the field, waiting for Splinter Cells to return from mission.

The adrenalin was pumping through our blood, as we sped further along. I looked in the mirror to check for the pursuers, they weren't in sight, I glanced back to the road... the Lincoln tossed left with a tremendous shudder as the rear right door and trunk caved in from a black van, that without notice, exited fast from a driveway. The car slid along the road smoking the tires, before halting in the centre allowing the glass to settle in our laps. I reached down to the floor and picked up the MP-5 covered in glass before reaching out the window firing a few rounds into the side of the van. The Lincoln was now adjacent to the road, and pointed towards an alley leading behind the houses. I throttled the car forward crushing white picketed fences and destroying flowerbeds whilst straightening into the alley. I looked over my shoulder to the van following further back, men hanging out the windows with machine guns in hand.

I steered through the alley bumping dumpsters and ramming trash bags, now reaching a speed of fifty miles.

I looked at Redding "Tell me how far they are?!" the trunk sparked as a bullet punctured, followed by another shrapnelling into the carpeted roof. "Close enough... eighty meters and closing." He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a standard issue Berretta 9 millimetre, pulling the release, slotting a bullet into the barrel. He turned around in his seat and fired three shots through the rear, only one hit the van. They retaliated with great force, pounding the car with more led.

"Switch seats!" I yelled unclipping my seat belt sliding into the rear seat. Redding slid across to the wheel, scraping against a brick wall as he went. I brought the MP-5 to my shoulder and lent on the back rest. The sub-machine gun coughed a few shells to one side. The van sparked up and the window smashed. Accuracy was difficult from the quality of the lane.

I was hesitant firing on them, what if they were government issued men, paid to hunt down some random guy? I had to put it behind me, no agency or SWAT troop would dare fire in the risk of harming civilians. I shut my eyes and cursed before clearing my thoughts opening fire once again, only this time more fiercely.

The van sparked profusely as the driver slumped sideways. The crash was impressive, as the large black transit van veered right into the corner of a metal dumpster, stopping it right in its tracks. The front crushed inwards and the rear jumped into the air before landing in a heap of smoke and metal.

"You alright?" I asked jumping back in the front seat.

He wiped his face clean of glass, dirt and sweat, then nodded "Yeah, I think so."

We exited the alley and returned to the street, it was clear, but I knew that wouldn't last long. "We need to leave this car and grab a new one." Will nodded again, only a little more hesitant.

"Where will we grab a new one? Are we going to steal one?"

"No, but I know where to get one."


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

04:27 hundred hours

Baltimore

The Lincoln pulled up to the curb, still purring silently with the most brilliant rhythm, seemingly unharmed by the bullet laced body. The key turned and the engine dropped in a slight whine before sitting peacefully on the side of the road. We sat for a minute looking out the window taking in what just happened. William seemed struck. He just lost everything. I exhaled in relief before pointing down the street.

"There is a Chinese restaurant nearby, two blocks down, go through it and out the back. Ask for the key, they'll give you one with no questions asked, there you will find a door to an apartment. Inside, is everything you need. There is a phone, call Lambert, tell him what just happened and he'll look after you."

That restaurant, was meant for me. When a Splinter Cell has to start over, disappear, a safe house which is built especially for that agent is accessible. This one was mine. Inside is everything they need to start over: food, clothing, a bed to sleep in, as well as the necessities needed to disappear: money, licences, passports, bank cards, birth certificates; all issued for the agent under a new name, birth place and even a false and deceased pair of parents. Life starts again.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Dump the car. I'll get in contact with Lambert, then chase down this Domitri."

"Okay." He nodded a few times then reached out his hand. "Stay safe Fisher."

"Sam." I said correcting my title. "Will, I'm sorry. About everything."

He huffed and looked out the window "No, I didn't agree to help you thinking that this wouldn't happen." I shook his hand then started the engine.

"I'm going to sort this one out. I'll keep in contact, watch your back." William got out of the car the closed the door, banging twice on the roof. The Lincoln growled up the street; I looked in the revision at William standing on the footpath wiping himself off.

I got him into this, now I'm going to get him out of it.

***

The Lincoln was now clean of prints and alike, and all Redding's belongings including his number plates I dumped down a drain in a garbage bag. Shutting the door, I glanced around the park of anyone watching, then gave the Lincoln a short shoulder along. It started slow before catching the slight incline, pulling away down the bank. I turned immediately and power walked away, vaulting a few rails before the thudded splash of the Lincoln hit behind me. I pulled out my cell phone and slid up the screen, before punching a ten number dial code on the keypad. The dial tone rang a few times before Lambert's low voice answered "Irving Lambert?"

I kept on walking past the local basketball courts then entered onto a side street "Lambert, it's me."

"Christ Fisher! What the hell happened?!" the street was quiet, but I didn't expect more for the area.

"I was compromised."

"Damn right you were. It's all over the news and I've got to clean it up. We are up to our necks in this."

"I know."

"Where are you now?"

"I can't say at the moment."

"What about William?" he asked impatiently.

"His fine. Expect a call from him, his bunked out at the safe house."

"Good thinking. I'll take care of him from here on."

"When they were after me, I'm pretty sure I left some in body bags, do you know who they were?" I walked by a few convenience stores before sighting two patrolling officers up ahead. I checked the street for cars, phone still to my ear, then walked across.

"Negative. There were no bodies to bag. Just a burnt out van and bullet carnage. Looks like they cleaned up. Your report on the attackers?"

"Looked pro. Geared up."

The two officers across the road didn't seem to notice me. I kept walking, weaving in between pedestrians. The night was starting to feel a bit nippy, and they were getting shorter.

"Where are you headed now?"

I turned right into another street, a main road on the eastern suburbs of Baltimore, and continued down it. The sun started to shadow itself behind the tall buildings, shooting a magnificent silluet of the offices onto the street.

"After Domitri. Follow it..." my heart paused for a second as I noticed a glimpse of a television in an electrical store's window. I skidded to a stop and stepped closer to the window pressing up against it with my hand.

Lambert's voice echoed in my ear.

On screen a presenter talked with a picture to her right of William's house, police flooded throughout his street.

"_...where thought to be a quiet suburban area, a gunfight has taken place. Witnesses have reported that two black vans, entered the street at around four-o'clock this afternoon, before several heavily armed men dressed in black uniforms stormed the house, where numerous gunshots were heard. Moments later one of the vans was found burnt out down an alley a few blocks away. No one has been believed to have been killed, though a thorough investigation is taking place. Only two of the men have been identified, a William Redding, the believed owner of the house stormed, and his assailant, unknown, but an eyewitness description and CCTV place the man as mid-forties, clean cut black and grey hair, last known to be wearing black cargo pants and a black coat." _Both our pictures, blurred, but identifiable, appeared onscreen._ "Both are believed to be armed and dangerous, and any information on their whereabouts should be provided immediately..."_

I stepped back from the window and scanned around. The sun had now completely hidden itself from the street. Behind me, the two officers were heading in my direction a block away, eyes focused on me. I turned away and quickly walked on.

"Fisher! Fisher!"

"I'm coming in. Don't ring this phone." I slid the phone closed and looked ahead to two more officers walking at me, one with the radio to his mouth. I turned right into an alley quickly glancing at the two behind walking quicker towards me. In the alley, a homeless man lay, warming himself in front of a lit metal barrel. Without stopping I dismantled the phone and dumped it in the flame, before taking off in a sprint.

"Hey you! Stop right there!" they yelled.

I pushed harder down the alley, my coat flapping behind me. The rhythmic clutter of boots followed closely behind, followed by the huffed speech into their radios for support, I didn't look back. The alley was closing to an end as the echo of sirens hummed in the background.

I was twenty meters from the exit before a screech of tires and sirens blocked the path. Two men jumped out, one hid his body behind the bonnet while the other ran for me, baton drawn. I slowed my run to give myself time to think and scan; then saw a ladder descending from one of the alley balconies above; it was drawn up, out of reach. I pushed back to a sprint and ran for the wall. Using the wall as a leverage I stepped up the bricks before pouncing myself out again, latching the ladder in my hands. The ladder rattled from the force of my grasp, sounding metal on metal. The police were still running for the ladder, guns drawn. "Freeze!"

"Stop right there!"

I stepped furiously up the ladder and onto the balcony, then shouldered a few doors. Finally one slammed open.

"He's entered and apartment building on East 56th Boulevard!" They called for backup to enter the main entrance and cut me off, while they slid over a trash can and hoisted themselves onto the ladder.

I slammed the door behind me and ran for the exit. I was in an apartment. Exiting into the hallway I checked for the stair way and headed to it, entered and descended down. The stairway was enclosed, and small. I turned each corner carefully, before on one corner an officer turned, baton on the swing. I caught the baton in my left and grabbed his throat in my right swinging him into a wall. He coughed from the force which most likely winded him. I disarmed the baton from his hand before smashing it across his face. He dropped to the floor unconscious; I dropped the baton and stripped him of his radio and gun, then continued down and into the foyer. Three more officers came sprinting in the entrance, guns drawn; my options were little, and so was my time.

"Drop the gun!"

"Do it now!" the officers yelled in a cluttered series of orders. I stopped in the middle of the foyer, as the three officers surrounded me. "Drop the gun and put your hands on your head!" scanning the street of a way out, I ignored the officers drawing closer, one of them signalling two civilian receptionists to get down.. Two more patrol cars pulled up out the front. My brain ticked over checking for a route. I made a decision and acted on it. Suddenly, I sprinted to the right, passing the reception, firing three rounds into the front window. The officers yelled but didn't fire, in the risk of hitting civilians. The window shattered as my shoulder pounded against it, shards of glass entering onto the street. A patrol car sat in the centre of the street, door wide open and engine on. The patrol car officers were at the entrance of the foyer, realizing they were about to get jacked; they sprinted towards the patrol car, racing to get there first, but they were too far away.

I leapt into the driver's seat, narrowly missing a bullet that imbedded in the rear panel, slammed the door closed and flattened the throttle. Officers ran out in front of me, firing single rounds into the windshield; though the reinforced glass took the shots in their stride. The officers stepped out of the path of the roaring V6, yelling for backup in their radios.

Within a few seconds, the second patrol car that was out the front of the foyer entered onto the revision mirror, sirens blaring.

I leant over to the car console and switched on the receiver. A static female voice entered the radio _"... units in the Queens district, we have a pursuit of a stolen patrol vehicle, heading east on 34__th__ Time street. Advise all units, suspect is armed and dangerous, proceed with caution. Over."_

"_Roger that, do you have the number of the patrol car? Over."_

"_1248. Over."_

"_Copy that, heading south off Brooklyn road, be there in a minute. Over."_

I had to lose them, and I knew where I could. I pushed the Ford to its limits, weaving corners to the left and right.

Enterprise corner was my destination. Peak our traffic, and civilians. The perfect cover.

The ABS brakes kicked in as the Ford halted to the curb of Enterprise corner. I wiped the gear knob and steering wheel with my sleeve then jumped out and ran straight into the middle of a wave of people rushing to get home. Enterprise Corner isn't actually a corner, it the biggest business and shopping street in the city. A long corridor reaching over one kilometre, packed with thousands of people at a time.

The sirens of Baltimore's entire police academy echoed around the city. I pulled up the hoody to on my jacket and walked through the mass of people; squad cars screeched to the entrance of Enterprise Corner, scanning for a needle in a large bale of hay.

***

Lambert sat at his desk, pushing his final day's paper into the completed box. Though his mind was elsewhere. He kept a close eye on the phone, just hoping for that familiar voice.

The phone rang. Without hesitation he lifted the phone to his ear

"Irving Lambert."

"_Lambert." _Irving felt a wave of relief tingle across his face.

"You alright?" he asked pinching the bridge of his nose.

"_I'm fine."_

"Half of BPD is after your arse." He said scanning through his blinds.

"_I know, I think I ticked em' off."_

"Where are you now?"

"_A phone booth. I can't talk long..." _a siren blared in the background_ "I'm coming in, tomorrow night. It's time I bring this war to them."_

"You won't get within a mile of an airport, and with your face now familiar to whoever is after you, you'll be dead the instant you step off that plane."

"_I know, so I'll need a ride out of here."_

"Bird?"

"_Sir."_

"I'll do what I can."

"_I'll need gear, papers, money."_

"I'll have to pull some large strings."

"_If you don't pull em' they're gonna get cut. This has got to happen."_

"Agreed."

"_Keep safe." _The dial tone ended as Fisher cut the line. Lambert leant on his desk fiddling with his pen, wondering where this would end up.

He pushed the receiver button and typed in a new number.

"William. It's time." 


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

"_He's still running." _the American voice said over the phone.

"So I take it the mission was unsuccessful?" Domitri asked rhetorically, knowing the answer himself.

"_Yes. He is now a bigger threat."_

"How exactly?"

"_He has got help."_

"Help?"

"_He's doing what we thought he would, getting help from inside Third Echelon. We know only of two sources, Colonel Irving Lambert, he is the executive director of Third Echelon, and William Redding. He was at the site when we went after Fisher, lost track of him since then."_

"You are going to take care of this Lambert?" Domitri sat back in his chair and poured a glass of whiskey.

"_We can't. He is too high up on the food chain. But you can."_

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you remember our deal, we take out Third Echelon, you give us the formulae. That was the deal."

"_Sometimes you've got to read the fine print..."_

"I'm starting to wonder if there was any!" Domitri asked loudly.

"_We made your job easy! We told you where to look and who to look for, so far that has been easy enough, I don't see why one extra target is worth arguing over."_

Domitri took the phone away from his ear and had a mouthful of whiskey, before exhaling _shiza_ under his breath. "Okay. But don't make a habit of this."

"_That's more like. I'll send you through the relevant information. Orders are to keep it neat. Last thing we need is a conspiracy." _

Domitri stirred the glass around in his hand, watching the smooth golden brown liquid lap around inside "And, just say you catch Fisher before we do, what happens with our deal?"

"_It still goes ahead, don't worry. Just keep on bringing in the bodies, and if Fisher turns out to be one of them, then that'll be a bonus."_

Two quick knocks came from the door, before Petric poked his head in, and gave a nod.

"I have to go. We got him talking."

"_I'll call next thing I learn."_

Domitri Cheskavour got out of his recliner and put the phone back on the receiver, sculled the last of his whiskey and cursed. "Let's go."

***

Dark, morbid, depressing; they were all words that described the two meter squared concrete room. The room was lit by a flickering fluorescent light, as the room was window-less; if claustrophobia didn't give you a headache the light would.

The dead lock detached and the dinted metal door swung open. Not much struck Cheskavour, but even he felt uncomfortable when he entered the room, where in the centre, a bruised naked man sat cuffed to a metal chair; his head was slumped on his shoulder and his face mangled and bruised.

Both Domitri and Petric were struck by the stench of sweat and blood as they walked in the room. The stench of torture.

Petric stepped to the side, giving Domitri room.

Bent over, head on a slight incline, Domitri walked up to the man with his hands in his pockets. "So, Mr Turner?" the man didn't reply, he didn't even move. "Wanted to tell me something did you?" Domitri pursed his lips, straightened up and looked at Petric. "He mustn't been in a talkative mode. Continue." Cheskavour turned and took a step towards the door, prompting the man to grown the words "No!"

"Ah! Welcome back Mr Turner, finished having fun?!" Domitri said walking back towards Turner.

"What..." he stumbled his words "...what do you want? Why are you doing this to me?!" he yelled breaking out in a sob.

"I am doing this because I need to know what you told Mr Fisher?" He sat there sobbing under his breath. Holding backing the answer. Domitri grew tired and signalled Petric. Petric walked over to Turner striking the back of his hand across his face. The power was strong, snapping Turners head to the left. Petric looked at Domitri for whether to continue. Domitri nodded once. This time Petric put his fist into it, flattening Turner's front row of teeth. In a shriek of pain he yelled for mercy "Stop! Please stop!"

"Then tell me what I want to know!" Domitri yelled, in his face, drenching Turner in spit and the fumes of an alcoholic.

"The Dragons..." Domitri tilted his head.

"Dragons? You mean the Red Dragons? You told...? What else did you tell him?" he didn't reply. "What else!?" Domitri yelled kicking his chair back. Turner fell flat on his back in a thud.

"You." He coughed.

"Me. You told him about me. The Domitri Cheskavour?!"

"Yes, yes!" he cried aloud "That's all I said I swear... I swear. Please let me go!"

Domitri stood up straight then walked for the door. Petric followed. "Sir?" Petric asked. "Alert all groups. Make sure every airport has a team ready. He has no business left in America. Now, he comes to Russia."

"Yes sir." Petric answered before walking away.

"Oh and Petric, activate the asset. We have a friend in Washington that needs to be dealt with."

"Yes sir."


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

Forte Meade, Maryland

Private Airstrip

22.08.09

18:43 hundred hours

Forte Meade, named after the late Gordon Meade, a hero during the civil war, lies concealed in the confines of an army outpost, five miles south of the town of Laurel, Maryland. Within this outpost lies the snakes head of the NSA, or the foundations for the operations performed by the agency. Numerous NSA groups are stationed throughout America, the main groups are in New York and DC, but the head of the Agency is in Maryland.

The light mist hovered below the tree tops, dampening the leaves and ground with the soft dew drops of the early morning air. The sun was peaking a glimpse of its orange body between the waists of the tree line, as it rose comfortably on the horizon, preparing itself for the day ahead. The atmosphere was truly stunning as the sun's light pierced the mist creating a beautiful laser show.

The Land Rover's ever changing frequency of the engine, hummed loudly as it worked over the rugged terrain. The large tread gripped then slipped with the muddy ground beneath the two tonne vehicle, only to be conquered by the Rover's limited slip diff. The track steepened, sending the Rover to low RPM. I cranked back a gear and feathered the accelerator, weaving through the trees and shrub, wrestling with the wheel.

The hill flattened out, leaving a feeling of disappointment. When the job was normal - not being hunted by an agency – I'd spend my time either renovating my house or exploring new tracks to conquer, hence the disappointment.

Painted in mud, the Rover stopped by a seven foot barbed wire fence which circled the Forte Meade army base. I killed the engine of the Rover, reached around and grabbed a backpack, jumped out closing the door and walked for the fence.

I checked my watch and looked down the perimeter of the fence, waiting. Wildlife scampered around as the forest started to wake.

Checking my watch again, I chucked the backpack over the fence and watched as the seconds on the dial rhythmically passed.

_Come on Grim._ I thought.

Moments later the fence hummed then hissed with static before growing silent.

_Nice._

I held my faith tight hoping that was the fence's power being turned off, then bolted towards it. _One... two... three..._ I counted. Grim told me that I'd have exactly seven seconds before the power would return. Leaping at the fence, left foot first, I pushed myself upwards. Now the tricky part. If the electricity didn't get me I was sure the razor sharp wire would. Using my right foot, I gripped once again into the fence leaping my body up, twisting horizontally, then rolled my forearm along the wire, holding myself long enough to twist over the barbed wire tip. I landed perfectly, one leg to the chest and the other knee to the ground, surprising myself at the fete. The fence clicked a few times the hummed vibrantly from the flow of current. Standing up I brushed myself down then checked my forearm, the jacket had been torn from the wire, leaving my skin with only minor wounds.

I grabbed the bag, tossed it over my shoulder, checked my watch then jogged on into the bushes.

The Osprey was the next generation of transport; it's sharp bold look, and aerodynamic body gave it the deadly name. Introduced into British Special Forces and the SAS in 2003, formally known as the TT-L67, was the first prototype of the model, with the ability of switching it's duel rotors from jet to hover at the press of a button. It's engines were powerful enough to get it where it wanted in a reasonable amount of time, and agility surprisingly good, allowing rapid change in direction without the jerky ride and flashing red lights.

Then a year later, the TT-L67 was produced for the US Navy SEAL's, where it undertook minor adjustments from the NDT or National Defence Technologies; stealth capabilities were attached, including the entire rebuild of the TT-L67's shell from the same material used on stealth bombers. The NSA bought one, no red tape, and made its own tweeks, before renaming it the Osprey. And here it sits, camped on a private runway tucked in the middle of the bush.

I slowed my jog down when I reached the edge of the clearing, then looked out to the Osprey which sat hampered down next to a black sedan. Walking out into the open, I made my way down the runway towards the Osprey. Lambert walked down the ramp of the Osprey and pulled a cigar from his brown leather jacket. He walked towards me to greet half way "You're not getting paid for this." He said grasping the cigar in his teeth.

"So, no change?" I replied extending my arm out shaking his. He huffed through the corner of his mouth before saying under his breath "No change."

"Sir." I greeted.

"You know you're taking a risk..."

"I know." I butted in, looking over my shoulder, I didn't want to be reminded. I pulled a pair of Aviator's out of my jacket pocket, put them on and gestured my head at the Osprey "Don't s'pose you want to come along Colonel?"

"Not this time Sam." He said pulling the cigar from his mouth before exhaling a lungfull of smoke.

"Too cold?"

He looked at me for a second then went in for another puff "Yeah." He said with a chuckle.

I looked over Lamberts shoulder to Grim leaning one side of the cargo door, her arms folded as she peered towards us.

Lambert looked back and squinted from the sun, curious of my vision. I slapped him on the shoulder suggesting we get a move on.

We strolled towards the Osprey "How is she?" I asked.

He replied quickly "Fine." I glanced at him under the rim of the Aviator's. "Scared." He nodded.

I stopped as Lambert walked on and asked "I told her..."

"She wants to." He stopped also and looked back at me, shrugged his shoulders then repeated "She wants to."

We continued on. As we approached the Osprey I looked at Grim, grew a smile then let out a chuckle.

"Hey stranger." She said.

"Grim." I said chucking my bag up to her. She chucked me back a small black item, catching it in my arms. I ripped back the Velcro and slipped out the 10 by 5 centimetre PDA.

The OPSAT (Operational satellite uplink) or PDA (personal data advisor), second to Grim, was my lifeline in the field; It provides me with real time information and telemetry, such as altitude and longitude, temperature, humidity and wind speed and numerous other geographical facts; an interactable 3D blueprint of the surroundings, geographical or manmade, every nook and cranny of a building, security and technological enhancements. It is equipped with the latest technology, allowing me to tap into computers, security systems and mainframes, download and upload information and programs and bypass electronic locks.

Then it is capable sending vital information across the world to Third Echelon's computers, examined, stored, then acted on.

"Ah, the GPS!" I said flipping it in the air then catching it.

"PDA." She corrected.

"Of course. They never did stick that television enhancement on this thing."

"I don't think they thought the Simpson's was appropriate in Israel."

"Yeah well, they're not the ones waiting in a gutter for days on end, waiting for the word to start moving."

"No, how inconsiderate."

"Here here."

I walked up the ramp past Grim into the rear cabin. Redding stood in the centre, adjusting what appeared to be my uniform.

It was black with a tinge of grey and blue, scattered with pockets and harnesses, which were designed to break up the figure, blending my body into the surroundings. The material was flexible and rough, made out of a diving suit and weaved with Kevlar thermal sheets, resistant to mostly to hard conditions, but if lucky enough, could be called bullet resistant.

He looked up and smiled "Sam, glad you could make it." I shook his hand. "Redding."

He put the uniform down, opened a cabinet on the wall and pulled out a 5-7 SC semi-automatic pistol and handed it to me.

It's slick black design melted itself into your hand providing perfect balance and precision. Ammunition is a clip of twenty 9mm slugs, designed to break up upon impact, reducing likely hood of passing through hostiles, reducing collateral damage and evidence of presence.

I held it up in two hands, looking down the iron sights. "Suppressor?"

He handed me a 30mm flash/sound suppressor. It twisted then clicked smoothly onto the barrel of the pistol.

"Good. Don't suppose you have my lovechild?" he looked at me then grinned, bending down and pulled a green rifle case from under the seats, placed it on the seat then unclipped the locks and opened it. The SC-20 Assault Rifle sat comfortably in the foam padding.

The SC-20 rifle is light weight and manoeuvrable, engineered with the least amount of steel possible; non-critical parts have been replaced with reinforced carbon plating, whilst the grip and clips have been produced out of a light weight alloy. It's stocky figure increases the peak in accuracy, sights have a 2x zoom scope, swappable with an assault lens and sniper scope. It has a fore grip and launcher attachment for control and a vast array of options. The clip has thirty standard NATO 5.56 x 45 mm rounds, fired on semi-automatic, burst or automatic.

I pulled the safety and handed it back to Redding.

Lambert walked onto the ramp and lent against a wall, "Got everything?"

"For now."

He looked at his watch then said "Time's passing, better get moving."

"Till next time." I said shaking his hand.

"We'll see." He said shrugging his head. "You have a habit of coming back."

"So I do." Lambert turned back down the ramp and entered his car, waving off as he went. The ramp closed as I stood, starring into thin air. "We'll see."


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

Staryy Oskol

60 miles South-West of Voronezh

Republic of Russia

Every meter seemed a mile, every minute and hour. His emotions never interfered with his work, he tried to live a double life; but he knew it wasn't possible. This time he feared he'd lost to his emotions, lost to his now more present sub-conscious. To beat emotions, you have to face them. He now understood that.

He never did believe in fate, he didn't believe paths crossed for a reason,

everyone has a fate, but everyone can create it. Sam Fisher did just that.

Third Echelon was a path he'd chosen from the beginning, a path in which he devoted his life for the good of others. _Define good?_

Saving American citizens by taking the lives of others? The balance clouded Sam's mind, though never did he let it crush him, instead he justified his thoughts and got on with it.

Each action has a consequence, defined on intentions of good or evil, leaving an outcome of praise or justice.

Justice was what Sam believed in.

The Osprey's engines dimmed to a light hum as it dropped in altitude, gliding through the frosty Russian air. Fisher walked to one of the Osprey's side windows, peering out to the mountainous region drifting on in the background, the crystal blue lakes and snow covered farming regions in the foreground.

The cabin door opened as William walked out with a coffee in hand. "Almost time." William said looking out over Fishers shoulder. Fisher nodded. William took a sip then asked "Geared up?"

"Check."

"Good... want a coffee?"

Fisher shook his head then leant against the cabin wall "No thanks, bad habit... on a patch."

William raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"I don't like coffee."

"Oh..."

Fisher walked to his locker and pulled out a bottle of water, then raised it to Redding. "Water is the life saver, not the gun."

Bird's voice came over the PA _"Sam, we are in range."_

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes, before striding to the locker and pulling out the chute. Redding walked over and helped fit the pack, tightening the straps and checking the harnesses. Once fit, Fisher walked into the cockpit and patted Bird on the shoulder; he looked up at Fisher and winked before reaching for his hand, "You watch out there 'ay mate." He said in his Australian accent.

"Just like old times." Fisher grasped his hand and shook it hard.

"Old times die hard."

"We are not dead yet."

"You're bloody right mate. Sam, you call, I'll be there."  
"Better be you bastard." He let go of his hand, patted the co-pilot's head then left the cockpit to Grim standing with her hand outstretched. Fisher stopped and looked at her hand, then grasped it looking her in the eye. "Thankyou... for everything." She smiled and pulled him in for a hug. "You know... if Lambert saw you do this..." She pushed away and laughed.

"He'd kick your ass not mine."

"Exactly." She laughed again then breathed in deeply.

The bay door pressurized and lowered with mechanical creaks and hums, followed by a burst of windy cold air filling the cabin. The 'ready' light clicked once to red, then orange.

"So what now?" She asked looking out the door.

"Now... now I jump out of a plane."

"And kick some poor guy's ass."

"Precisely." He looked at Redding and shook his hand, "Till next time."

"Till next time." William replied.

The ready light flickered then turned green.

He turned toward Grim and reached for her arm and squeezed lightly before walking to the end of the ramp. Fisher turned for one last look at Grim, then said "Don't leave town." before leaping backwards off the ramp into the vacuum awaiting.


	10. Chapter 10

Calling all true Splinter Cell fans!

This is Shadowmarksman the author of Splinter Cell: Double Agent, Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory, and Splinter Cell: Red Mercury. (FF)

I regret to inform that this is not the long awaited next chapter of Red Mercury. Instead I've come to say that I believe this story has come to a standstill. My enthusiasm seems to have died as the game franchised died with it. I unfortunately no longer have the time necessary to complete this book. This saddens me deeply as I enjoyed writing it so much. I've tried time and again to complete the story but have created such a storyline that would make it last for chapters to come, which in turn would take time.

This is a sincere apology to all my followers.

BUT! Whether this works or not I don't know, but I have read your stories and enjoyed! Now I would like to ask that my work be finished! And I'd like you to do it! I would be interested to see how others would finish the storyline and others methods in writing.

I give all those willing to finish my story, or just the next chapter the opportunity! It's up to you.

Just publish it as **Splinter Cell: Red Mercury Part 2**.

I would be honoured that others finish where I have failed.

Yours sincerely ShadowMarksman


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